


Red Room Gym

by Jolarock



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Sexual Tension, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolarock/pseuds/Jolarock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first fic i've written in ever. Don't be kind, i need feedback/crit.   it's a modern take on the comic-book canon, no triggers, fairly G+ rated, slightly salty language.  You may want to take a second look at the Comic-Book canon treatment of Natasha's red-room training for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Room Gym

Today she is Gnat, close enough to her name that she’ll react  
convincingly when someone calls her.  An old trick she stopped using a  
few years ago, when it became too obvious, but she’s returned to it  
occasionally just to maintain the cover in case it’s needed later.  
She weaves more than one web, and all of them need proper maintenance.

Her spider-web Docs are silent on the concrete but her bullet-belt  
clanks and occasionally jingles.   She can release and drop it  
instantly if she needs to get away quick and disappear, but people  
remember the sound, associate it with her and that’s what she wants.  
Her bullet bracelets are almost purely decorative, but they are heavy,  
and when she gets to the gym she’ll take them off and move a fraction  
more quickly.

10 minutes to her appointment, it’s just around the corner.   She  
slumps her shoulders forward just slightly and moves a bit of auburn  
hair behind her ear, showing off a strip of shaved skin at the  
temples.  Another trick, with her hair up in a high ponytail, her  
undercut shows and her hair appears darker.

Later, when she walks down the street in a black, low-cut blouse, with  
her hair down, it’ll look more copper blonde because of the highlights  
on top.  She’ll look taller, and the swagger she’ll put into her walk  
will make her look enough like someone else that the newspaper vendor  
she sees every day won’t recognize her, though he’ll stare at her ass  
hard enough.  But he recognizes Gnat and gives a wave, she pops a wave  
back at him and turns the corner.

*************************************

This is day 2 with the new “trainer,” and she’s still nursing injuries  
from the first day.  Her left calf muscle is a knot of pain, and she  
earned a bruised heel by landing just a bit awkwardly after evading a  
vicious low leg-sweep.  Assessing herself for further liabilities, she  
registers a bone-deep ache throughout her body, another legacy of   
yesterday's hard training.

She rotates one of her wrists and winces as if in slight discomfort,  
but appears to shake it off.  One of the simpler tricks, but highly  
effective.  Make your injuries disappear, manufacture injuries that  
don’t exist, and hope the enemy takes the bait and goes for you where  
you are strongest.  It’s a defensive tactic, because there is no way  
in hell she can go on the offensive with this one.  As always, guile  
will be the weapon of choice.  The strong will always rely too heavily  
on their strength, she will rely on her perceived weakness to outwit them.

*****************************************

23 minutes in, and his fighting style flows seamlessly between Jiu  
Jitsu and Capoeira, which just doesn’t seem fair. The rhythm shifts  
abruptly, with a flurry of boxing-style short jabs.  She’s used to  
spotting the patterns and predicting them, watching the feet telegraph  
the moves to come.  Fighters weave their own webs with movement.  
There is a split second of knowing she can’t evade the third punch,  
after the second almost lands.  She allows herself to fall back with  
it, and manages to avoid the worst.  It’s a perfectly controlled jab,  
hard enough to land squarely but not hard enough to break bones.  
Still, she’s not as graceful as usual when rising from her defensive  
crouch.  When he asks if she needs a break, she shrugs her shoulder as  
if it wasn’t on fucking fire with pain and manages a light tone.  “I  
can do this all day.”

His face, which had been impassive during those last 23 minutes,  
suddenly changes rapidly.  Emotion moving through it like time-lapse  
photography of clouds moving over a playa.  Some sort of memory --  
pain, confusion, tenderness, something else -- something she can’t  
read.  It passes quickly, but his face is somehow subtly changed.

When he asks her to turn around, she calculates the odds.  She turns,  
and concentrates on her breathing, on her pulse, on controlling every  
signal her body gives off.  Did they uncover one of her few secrets,  
did she give herself away?  There were always tests, sometimes tests  
within tests, and if she could control her fear she might pass another  
one today.

When she feels metal against her shoulder blade, she isn’t surprised.  
It’s unexpectedly warm, like skin, and suddenly digs into the most  
painful spot, releasing the pain there and leaving a dull ache and a  
spreading warmth.  The metallic fingers don’t linger even a moment  
longer than they have to -- they only have 36 minutes of training  
left.

When they face each other on the mat, both of their faces are  
impassive.  They continue sparring.

*************************************************

When Natalia walks back down the street, her heels flash like silver.  
She likes to be looked at, directing people’s gaze at what she wants  
them to remember.  She may have a date for tonight, if you want to call it  
that.  Sometimes you have to shake the web pretty damn hard to see  
what will fall out.  She flexes her shoulder, and smiles at the little  
twinge of pain it gives her.


End file.
